


i can’t wait, i’ve been longing

by Fxckxxp



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Established Relationship, First Time, M/M, POV Martino Rametta, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, tipsy sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 19:05:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18857218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fxckxxp/pseuds/Fxckxxp
Summary: Marti’s just tipsy enough to work up the courage and ask Nico for something he really wants.





	i can’t wait, i’ve been longing

“You’ll thank me later.”

Two pills — presumably proactive pain relievers — and a glass of water are being placed gently into Martino’s hands. It takes him a second to register what it is. His head is still rolling with alcohol.

Not as bad as earlier. Nico made him eat toast, shower, and brush his teeth after they stumbled home from Silvia’s party. 

And now he’s being tucked into bed after Nico’s struggled to help him into his pajamas, giving up entirely and letting Marti just spread eagle himself over the duvet in his underwear and a T-shirt. 

Marti’s head hits the pillow, and even the softness can’t stop the dull headache that’s bloomed — a hangover creeping into his tipsiness: blurry lag in his vision, joints dehydrated and creaky, thoughts uninhibited.

Well, one thought, actually: he wants to kiss Nico. Who’s perched on the edge of the bed, twinkly tipsy eyes smiling. His hand finds Marti’s forearm, still cool from the glass of water he was holding. As if Marti’s stubbornness to get to sleep had no affect on him whatsoever. As if he’s endeared by it. 

To speed up the process, Marti fumbles the pills into his mouth and takes a sip to wash them down, setting ithe glass on the bedside table. 

“No,” Nico laughs, tilting his head with one shake and reaching over to pick it up again. “You have to drink the whole thing. And one more. And really I should make you drink five because that’s how many beers you had.” His words are a bit muddled, but he’s far more sober than Marti is. 

“I’d piss the bed,” Marti slurs with a cheeky smile, pouting at the water in Nico’s hand, outstretched for him. 

“I’ll sleep on the couch then.” He winks. 

It’s a joke — he says it like one, but Marti narrows his eyes at Nico anyway. “No.” Is all he manages. He still hasn’t even got to kiss him yet.

He drinks the water because he knows that won’t happen until he does. 

Smacking his lips, setting the glass down again with a definitive clink for what seems like the millionth time, Marti leans up and drags Nico toward him by the back of his neck, surprising him with a happy kiss they hum contented into. 

Marti opens his mouth after just a second, hot and slow. It makes Nico giggle into it with how eager he is, and Marti would be mad he’s not taking him seriously if he wasn’t so cute.

He finds Nico’s back with the hand not on his neck and smooths down it, pressing. Nico gets the idea, joins him horizontal on the bed. 

Marti slots their legs and rolls Nico on top of him. Tilts his head to deepen the kiss and meets Nico’s tongue with his own, unhurried. Like one fluid movement Marti’s surprised happened so smoothly considering how his brain has one focus and is slower than his heart, thudding faster. 

Nico doesn’t stop him, though. Marti can feel his smile fade and get serious, concentrating on the kiss. His lips wander to the corners of Marti’s mouth, a prelude to finding their way down his jaw, neck, collar. Marti’s skin pricks in those spots at just the thought of it. 

He didn’t mean for everything to get so hot so fast, but he’s hard already, squirming to find some friction. He doesn’t hide it, either — even smiles smug into their kiss when his excitement brings Nico’s laugh back, as if he’s not surprised. 

The alcohol probably doesn’t help, overriding Marti’s inhibitions. His subconscious is budding up to his conscious, flowering out of his flushed skin. Burgeoning through the limbs that can’t keep still — that grab at Nico, push him down, pull him close. It gets serious again. He wants him. 

Wants something specific. 

His brain might be brave enough to ask for it, still wading through those drunk dregs. 

Before Nico, Marti wasn’t a stranger to sex. To sex with another person, okay, yes, which is another journey entirely — but not to sex with himself. He’s tried some things: some good and some meh. And one of those things he likes very much in particular. 

They haven’t talked much about this stuff. They honestly don’t even have a ton of sex. It usually goes like this: the minute they’re alone turns into kissing which turns into finding skin which turns into _what’s the fastest way I can make you feel good?_

And it always goes fast; Marti never holds back. 

This one will take some time, though. Maybe that’s why he likes it so much. 

Nico’s already touching his stomach under his shirt. Cold palm on warm ribs. His kiss wanders down to Marti’s neck, right below his ear. Breath hot. Soft but near. Enveloping Marti in the heat of it. He can barely think, just wants. 

“Touch me,” Marti whispers. So sudden it’s almost headlong. His hand on the back of Nico’s neck drags down his arm, finds the hand under his shirt, pulls it gently between his legs, pausing, like a question. He feels Nico smile against his neck, an answer.

And he reaches into Marti’s underwear and touches him, palm smoothing first over the head of his dick before finding a quick rhythm. Almost too quick, like Nico’s on a mission. 

_What’s the fastest way I can make you feel good?_

But Marti doesn’t want fast. 

“No,” Marti whispers. It comes out wrong, but it’s the only word he can manage that conveys anything near what he’s really thinking. 

Nico stops immediately, detaching from his neck to look at him with a worried ponder; attempting to pull his hand up which is quickly caught by Marti to keep it in place. 

_“Touch_ me,” Marti whispers again, dragging Nico’s hand even lower between his legs — past his balls, suddenly nervous. He has to close his eyes just to form the words — knows he wouldn’t be daring enough to make such a move without his head half fuzzy. But he keeps asking by guiding one of Nico’s fingers with the press of his own low, low. Between his cheeks.

Just this floods his veins, like his blood is near boiling. The anticipation, the build up. Nico’s hand on this part of him makes Marti’s heart pump like crazy — he can feel his whole body pulse, almost swollen. Wonders if Nico can feel it too against the pads of his fingers. 

They’re paused, frozen in time until Marti opens his eyes again, evening the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Nico doesn’t seem nervous, just surprised. Marti is so hard from just this it’s starting to hurt — the seconds seem like hours. 

“You want me to…?” 

Marti nods, exaggerated and desperate. No words. He can’t think of any. 

Nico presses a finger, just light pressure with no intention to go anywhere. It lands further in on the tight muscle, making Marti’s dick jump — and he’d be embarrassed by it if he could feel anything other than want. All he can do is point to the bedside table. 

Confused, Nico leans up. “You want the water…?”

That brings him back to the present a bit. “No,” Marti laughs, struggling to breathe right. “The drawer.” He doesn’t specify but knows that when Nico opens it he’ll get the idea.

He does. And his face is priceless. But the loss of contact when Nico reaches over him for it almost makes Marti cry. 

“Why do you have…?” Nico turns the bottle of lube in his hand, reading the label. 

He’s stretched over Marti, sitting halfway on the tops of his thighs. Breath hot in his ear. He can feel Nico’s dick hard on his hip. Marti knows he’s not meaning to tease him right now but who cares about the logistics. 

“Think.” Marti waggles his eyebrows, bringing his knees up to sink Nico closer into him. He has to swallow a dry sound. It comes out anyway. 

He feels Nico get harder as he pieces together why. If Marti were to peek inside his current thought, it would be a picture of Marti on his bed, one hand with fingers buried in him, pulling in and out, and one busy stroking himself. Maybe a few exaggerated sounds. 

Nico’s head falls into the crook of his neck, exhaling big. “Fuck, Marti.”

“Only if you want to.”

It’s instantaneous. “Yes.”

Nico moves to sit between Marti’s legs, pushing at his knees go give him more room. His own legs are bent, thighs thickening when he sits back on his ankles. Just out of reach. Marti doesn’t know what to do with his hands. 

Nico starts to wet his fingers with the lube, looking at it semi-puzzled because he’s never done this before, tugging at Marti’s boxers with his free hand. Marti wrangles himself out of them, sheds his shirt too because this might get messy. Flinging it all to the floor. 

Not realizing how naked he is until the cool sheets are against his back — he’s completely exposed, not really knowing if he likes it. 

Come to think of it, besides a shower, this might be the first time Marti’s ever been completely naked in front of Nico. 

He can tell he’s nervous. Not about the act itself, but about being good. Marti knows the feeling well. They’re usually more spontaneous than this — it’s the first time Marti’s asked for something, and he can tell it dampens Nico’s confidence just a bit. This is uncharted territory for him, but not for Marti. Maybe the the first time this has happened. 

He bows his legs out, knees bent and making an unclosed diamond shape around Nico sitting in the middle of them. Like a hug. _It’s okay._

When Nico brings his lubed hand back to him, dragging a finger over the soft part below Marti’s balls and lower, lower, pressing, he’s smiling shyly, tucking his lips in until he bites his bottom one. 

That smile could kill Marti. Its gentle. His full lips thin at the corners. More in his eyes than anything, curls falling into them. Nico leans down and kisses Marti’s hip, almost like he’s trying to absorb some of Marti’s steadfast nerves.

Which must be disguised well, because he’s a bundle of them. 

Marti runs a hand through those curls while he can — while Nico sucks a soft bruise on the bone there and rubs his finger against Marti’s opening in a soft wet circle. Again and again, pushing lightly until he’s relaxed. His other hand finds the top of Marti’s thigh, squeezing. 

He’s hard to look at — so pretty sitting there, making Marti feel like this. It’s almost too much. And it feels good, but Marti is impatient. He wiggles his hips, asking, letting Nico knows he’s ready. 

Who sits back up, probably so he can see Marti’s face when he pushes a finger inside. 

Marti makes a sound that’s somewhere between a gasp and a moan. With Nico out of reach, his useless hands grab the sheets before he flings one of his arms over his eyes.

Nico drags back out, knuckle curling. He almost hit the spot on the first push in and Marti thinks he might literally explode when he gets it right, over and over again. 

“Good?” Nico barely croaks it out. 

Marti makes a sound that means nothing — without nodding under his elbow Nico would have no idea what he means. 

“Yes,” he manages, almost gasping. “Press up, like towards my belly button.”

Nico does, just right, and all of the heat and pulses and tenderness of Marti’s body have nowhere else to go. They swell inside him, every cell on his body singing praise at just how good this feels. 

Marti pushes his hips down, meeting the movement. Find that spot. Not prepared for Nico to do it again. And again. His finger sliding out in a long wet pull, back again, curling up. Twisting his wrist to get the right angle. Nico must know he has it, listening and keening in to Marti’s body and the way he reacts. He’s very consistent. 

With a rhythm going, Marti knows reaching down to touch himself will only bring the end closer, but he can’t help it. He tells Nico _harder_ and all that does is make his hips jerk, his dick lightly bouncing on the skin of his stomach. Even that feels good. He reaches down to just hold it, which is too tempting. He starts touching himself. 

But his hand feels too good, even after just a few seconds. He stops, instead moves it down to feel Nico’s forearm between his legs. 

Which is almost worse. 

He can feel the muscles of it move in time with each drag, each curl. Marti flings the arm over his face away, finally looking at Nico. 

Who’s looking down at what he’s doing — at his hand inside Marti, at Marti’s hand on him. And then he looks up — into Marti’s eyes. And does that crooked smile, lips parted over his teeth. 

And good thing Marti stopped touching himself because that would have done it right there. 

“Do you want me to —” Nico nods down, offering to start again what Marti stopped. 

“No,” he laughs, breathless. “I want to last a little longer. You can use two?”

Marti watches Nico lick his lip, his eyes dark. He pulls his finger almost all the way out, and Marti feels the pressure of another one stretching him on a slow, wet push in. He exhales with it, feeling the burn that turns into pleasure as soon as Nico’s fingers push up and he twists his wrist. Finds that spot again. 

That spot that Makes Marti’s eyes want to roll, that make him want to come. 

This is what it’ll feel like, he realizes, when Nico opens him up before Marti finally works up the courage to ask him to fuck him. The feeling of that is not far off, probably real close to this.

Marti tries to focus of the physicality of Nico’s arm muscles, moving under his fingers. This thought and any slight touch is going to do it, he knows it. Can feel the beginning of it already pooling in his stomach, trying to time it so he doesn’t come untouched. 

“Okay,” he whispers. 

And Nico knows what he means. He moves the hand on Marti’s thigh over his hip, smoothing up his dick before wrapping his fingers around it and touching him. Synchronized with his other hand: push in, stoke down; drag out, stroke up. Nico’s thumb glides over the head of his dick with one movement, his fingers push into that spot with the next, juxtaposed. So Marti is never a second not overwhelmed with the most intense feeling. Not so slow it’s agonizing but not so fast it’s frantic. If pleasure had a thin line between the two, Nico’s got it just right. 

So right Marti feels that feeling. The one that’s been tightening lower down his middle. Feels it so strongly he’s unable to push it back any further; it’s more powerful than he is. He knew it wouldn’t take long, and feels even better because it’s Nico’s hand instead of his own. 

So with a warning word that’s more of a sound and a tap on Nico’s arm, Marti let’s himself come. Hard. And maybe longer than ever before. Like everything has just been working up to this. Nico doesn’t slow down or stop, just takes care of Marti with his touches all the way through until the tenderness afterwards is nerve-ending-overload. 

Somewhere behind the ringing in his ears, Marti hears Nico shifting, swallowing a sound, unable to keep still as he watches Marti come down. 

Marti motions for him to let go, hands flapping to get him to stop being so far away. That makes him laugh, the most perfect sound to hear when the white noise subsides. 

Nico wipes his messy hands on the sheets and keeps them far from Marti, who doesn’t care and brings one of them up to kiss the back of it, his thumb, his wrist, holding it in his own and pressing it to his chest. When Nico cuddles into him, his skin is hot, burning. Marti can almost feel it buzz. He’s hard. Marti just needs a minute before he returns the favor, which isn’t a favor at all. Whatever Nico wants. 

“Thank you,” Marti exhales, squeezing Nico’s hand, cradling the back of his head. Curls through his fingers. 

Nico looks up at him, puzzled. “Huh?”

Which only makes Marti snort, smug. “You said I’d thank you later.”

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on [tumblr!](https://bisexualcaravaggio.tumblr.com)


End file.
